


It Came From Tarnax IV

by Traincat



Series: Tales From the Back Pages [2]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: Peter knew the second it happened that something had gone terribly wrong with Johnny. The wave of panic that swept through him was strong enough to make him miss his connection, and for one terrifying second he fell. He caught himself on a window ledge with a wrench he knew he’d feel in his arms tomorrow, dangling from a wall with his heart beating thunderous against his ribs.--A soulmate AU retelling of Fantastic Four #31-32.





	It Came From Tarnax IV

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Spideytorch week 2019 and a big thank you to mod Halzbarry for putting things together this year! This was originally supposed to be for yesterday's soulmates prompt, but it didn't get finished in time, so luckily it also works for today's family theme. This is a retelling of Fantastic Four #31-32, because one of my favorite things to do with scenarios where Johnny and Peter get together as teens is to try and trace the trajectory from there in accordance with what happens in canon. So this is purely self-indulgent, because I love soulmate AUs and I also love extreme canon compliance. 
> 
> This is a sequel to my previous first words soulmate AU that also loved canon compliance, Tales From the Back Pages, although you probably don't need to read that first to get what's going on in this one. The plot follows the events of the Franklin Storm more or less accurately, with a few minor changes here and there. But all the major plot points pertaining to Franklin are in the real actual comic, for better or worse. I'm pretty sure a whole bunch of stuff, like hospital protocols and prison breakouts, don't actually work like this, but then I'm pretty sure they didn't work like this in the early 1960s either, so blame Marvel, not me. I just adhere to the rule that I don't have to do more in the plot department than the actual comics do.

Peter knew the second it happened that something had gone terribly wrong with Johnny. The wave of panic that swept through him was strong enough to make him miss his connection, and for one terrifying second he fell. He caught himself on a window ledge with a wrench he knew he’d feel in his arms tomorrow, dangling from a wall with his heart beating thunderous against his ribs.

“Johnny,” he said to himself, the name falling numb from his lips. He hung there for a moment, panic in his throat, trying to reach through their connection – but he couldn’t get a good enough handle on it, not through his own panic and the hurt and fear coursing through Johnny’s end of the link.

They’d fought that morning, and over something stupid, too. Peter had left the Baxter Building angry. Now something had happened to Johnny, something terrible, and with Peter having last said something mean and petty about his jeans and his hair. He was never going to forgive himself.

Focus, Peter told himself, breathing in deep. He could still feel Johnny, and that meant Johnny was alive and awake, wherever he was. Terrified out of his mind, strong enough that the emotion alone had nearly turned Peter into street pizza, but alive – all Peter needed to do now was get to him.

The link between them as soulmates wasn’t strong enough yet to guide him to Johnny alone, but Peter had other tricks up his sleeve. He’d been experimenting with his spider-sense, ever since the first time it had gone for Johnny, a mild buzz when Johnny had been about to trip over a step that made Peter stick his arm out automatically to catch him. The way he figured it, Johnny was a part of him now, and so danger to Johnny was danger to him.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on that, attempting to mentally grab onto his spider-sense like he’d grab onto a thread of webbing. At the other end of that glimmering spider’s thread, he imagined Johnny.

Peter took a deep breath and swung out.

His spider-sense swung him across town, and his heart leapt up into his throat when the end of that fragile web brought him to a hospital. _Don’t panic,_ he told himself, climbing up the walls and breaking into what turned out to be an empty supply closet so he could throw on his clothes over his costume. The mask he stuffed into his pocket, crumpled like a napkin. _Don’t panic._

It took him another twenty minutes of skulking around halls before he caught sight of a familiar rocky orange figure. Even the guards surrounding him couldn’t hide Ben completely from sight. And just beyond him, Peter could see a flash of blond hair and a pair of shaking shoulders.

He started forward before he could even think, only to find himself wrenched back by two security guards.

“Whoa, there, kid,” one of them said. “This is a restricted area. How’d you even get down here?”

All Peter could see was Johnny. The guards were keeping him from his soulmate, and their hands felt infinitely breakable where they were wrapped around is arms. It would be like breaking toothpick people.

“Back off,” Ben told the guards, getting up before Peter could well and truly lose it. “That’s the kid’s soulmate, you putzes. Don’t you watch the news? C’mon now, let ‘im go.”

Peter wrenched out of their grip, glaring as he did so, but then Ben was lumbering forward and bringing an arm around him.

“Easy, squirt,” he said. “No use pissing off the staff.”

Peter bared his teeth at one anyway; to his satisfaction, the older man flinched away.

Johnny was huddled in a chair, his head hung low and his fingers twisted whiteknuckled together. His uniform was all scuffed up, his hair a mess. Peter had never seen him so far from perfect.

He dropped to his knees in front of Johnny.

“Hey,” he said, completely inadequate, as he reached up to grip Johnny’s knees. “Hey, hi, Johnny. Look at me?”

Johnny sobbed, wordless. Peter’s whole entire world felt like it was breaking. Carefully he cupped his hands to Johnny’s face, leaning their foreheads together.

“Shh,” he said. “Shh, Johnny, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here now.”

Johnny’s eyes finally seemed to focus on his face, and then he was throwing himself out of his chair and wrapping his arms tightly around Peter’s neck, clinging onto him for dear life.

“The Mole Man, he was – and then he, and there was the e-explosion and I couldn’t _stop_ it,” he sobbed into Peter’s neck, his tears dampening the fabric. Peter wrapped his arms around him, one hand cupped to the back of his head, and scanned the hallway. Only Ben and Johnny and the guards were present. He couldn’t see Reed or Sue. Johnny continued to cry miserably, stammering muffling explanations into Peter’s shirt. “And then she –”

“Sue?” Peter asked, glancing up at Ben. There was a horrible pit growing in his stomach, warring with his relief that Johnny was, at least physically, alright.

Ben nodded, his face even stonier than usual.

“Reed and the doctors are in with her,” he ground out. “But there’s nothing the kid or I can do, so...”

Johnny sobbed, grabbing handfuls of Peter’s shirt. Peter threaded his hand through the back of Johnny’s hair and held on tighter.

“How bad is it?” he asked Ben.

Ben just crossed his arms and shook his head.

It was a long time before they heard anything. Peter had convinced Johnny at one point, exhausted as he was, to lie down on some chairs he’d pulled together, his head in Peter’s lap, but every few moments his shoulders shook with sobs.

Ben told Peter the story in a low voice; Johnny didn’t seem able to. The Mole Man, the explosion, the piece of shrapnel that had struck Sue. How they hadn’t realized how bad it was, at first. Ben was holding together, as far as Peter could see, but the rocky planes of his face looked suspiciously damp when the fluorescent overhead lights caught on him just right.

Johnny’s breathing had only just started to slow and even out when the door finally opened. Johnny was up like a shot, so quickly he almost knocked into Peter, his eyes wide as he gazed at the door.

Reed was standing there alone, his uniform rumpled and bloodstained and his face haggard. The harsh lights made him look much older than he was.

“Johnny,” he said, very quietly. “I need to speak with you a moment, son.”

Ben straightened up in his seat. Peter’s hand stilled on Johnny’s back. They traded a brief look before Ben’s gaze dropped.

“Wh—what does that mean?” Johnny asked, looking first from Reed, then to Peter, and then to Ben. His shoulders started to shake all over again. “Sue – Reed, is Sue gonna be okay?”

“Johnny,” Reed said, a note of exhaustion in his voice. “Just – come sit with me a minute, please?”

“No,” Johnny said, his voice quavering. “I want – I want to see my sister, I want –”

“Johnny,” Reed repeated for the third time, a final note in his voice.

Johnny started to cry again, big silent sobs that shook his whole body as tears streamed down his face. Reed’s hand landed on his shoulder as he stood over him.

“I know this is hard and terrible and unfair,” he said, a note of sadness deeper than Peter had ever heard in his voice, “but the doctors say there’s nothing else they can do for her, so we have to prepare –”

He was interrupted by the sounds of a scuffle down the hall; several security guards shouting, and a man’s gruff voice demanding to be let through. The intruder was a tall man wearing a shabby old grey coat, one that looked like it had seen better days, with the hood drawn up to hide his face. It took Peter a moment to hear what he was saying, distracted by the terrible news about Sue and the way Johnny was still crying helplessly.

“Let me by, damn you!” the man shouted, elbowing a security guard viciously in the gut. “I need to see my daughter!”

“Thought this was supposed to be a private floor,” Ben snorted, his gruff tone not quite hiding the watery quaver of his voice. “Ya save the world a couple o’ times and they don’t even give ya first class service these days.”

“It is a private floor,” Reed said, staring at the man in the grey coat. “Sue’s the only one here.”

“What?” Johnny said, voice hitching miserably as he finally looked up, just in time for the man to wrench himself away from security. He made a mad dash down the hall and Peter instinctively moved in front of Johnny even as Ben got up to block the way.

“Listen, buddy, you picked a real bad time to get the wrong directions,” he growled, pounding one fist against his open palm.

“No,” the man said, out of breath. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

The man drew his hood down. Underneath it was a face that was deeply lined, the skin pale and dry, and his hair, though thick, was completely white. His face meant nothing to Peter, but he could feel just how deeply it shook Johnny. Johnny started to pull away from him, taking a step forward, and Peter automatically tightened his grip on his hand, yanking him back.

“Dad?” Johnny said, voice shaking.

Ben and Reed both swiveled to look at him – or Reed’s head did, at least.

“Hello, Johnny,” the man said in a dry, tired voice.

“You’re dead,” Johnny said, all the color drained from his face. “You – Sue told me. You’ve been dead for years.”

“Johnny,” Reed said softly.

“No!” Johnny said, whirling on him. He was shaking from head to toe, dried tear tracks on his face. “No, I don’t – I don’t understand what’s happening. My dad’s _dead_! Sue, she must have told you – our father’s dead.”

“No,” Reed said in a strange sort of voice. “She never told me. But I saw a photo, once. Dr. Storm –”

“I presume?” Franklin Storm cut off with a humorless chuckle. “It’s me, alright. In the flesh.”

“This isn’t real,” Johnny said, raising a hand to his mouth. “You’re dead. You died. Sue told me –”

Franklin Storm reached out and put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing tight. His blue eyes were tired but not unkind as he looked at the boy who was, apparently, his son.

“Johnny, I’m so sorry,” he said. “And I hope there will be time to explain later. But right now I need to see your sister.”

Security had reached them again, but they were halted by Reed’s hand, stretched twenty times it’s normal size. Ben glanced at him and then followed suit, positioning himself between Franklin Storm and the guards.

“Mr. Fant – I mean, Mr. Richards, sir,” one of the guards said. “This man isn’t allowed to be down here. We have to –”

“This man was -- is a talented surgeon,” Reed cut in, his voice like steel. He drew himself up far taller than he actually was. “And he’s my fiance’s father. He has my full clearance to be here and to see her.”

“Mr. Richards, please,” the guard said, making a face like it pained him to say it. “I know this is a stressful time for you, but this isn’t –”

“I am the leader of the Fantastic Four and if I say it is, then it is,” Reed said, a hard note in his voice. “If you have a problem with it, you can call the president.”

Then they were gone beyond the door. Johnny stared at it for a long moment and then he swayed on his feet like he might collapse. Peter rushed to steady him, pushing him back down into the nearest chair.

Johnny swallowed harshly as he looked up at him, his cheeks tear-stained and his eyes red.

“My dad’s dead,” he said hoarsely.

“Well,” Ben said, hands planted on his hips. “For a dead guy, he looked pretty alright ta me.”

The next few hours passed in a blur. A couple of times Peter got up, to call Aunt May or to get Johnny a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but he barely registered that he was doing it.

Johnny didn’t eat, no matter how much Peter cajoled, and he barely spoke. It was Ben who finally got him to spill the details. Peter tried to ignore the stab of jealousy.

Through stammers and tears, Johnny managed to explain: his father had been a famous surgeon, his mother a respected archaeologist. They’d been on their way to a dinner in Mary Storm’s honor when the car went off the road. Mary Storm had died. Franklin Storm had followed, or so Johnny had been told, a few years later.

The way Johnny told it, Peter could understand why, after being unable to save his wife’s life, Franklin Storm couldn’t bear to lose his daughter.

What couldn’t be explained is where he’d been all this time.

At least, not until the police showed up.

* * *

The first thing Peter saw when the doors opened back up was Reed’s smile. He still looked exhausted, but now he was beaming ear to ear – nearly literally. Johnny and Ben were both on their feet instantly.

“Sue’s going to be okay,” Reed said, tears of relief in his eyes.

He was almost instantly drowned out by Johnny and Ben’s cheers. All three of them fell together, Ben dwarfing the other two and Reed’s arms triple looped around all of them. Johnny, caught in the middle, would have almost disappeared if Peter couldn’t hear his voice, loud and joyful.

Franklin Storm followed slowly on Reed’s heels, also smiling. He didn’t stop when he saw the detectives, not exactly – but the warmth faded from it, and that same smile turned rueful.

“Ah,” he said, a note of resignation in his voice. “And here I was hoping I’d have a little more time. You boys are faster than used to be.”

“Dad?” Johnny said, disentangling himself from Reed and Ben. He caught Franklin Storm by the sleeve of his scrubs. “What’s going on?”

“Franklin Storm,” the lead detective said. Johnny whipped around like he was seeing the police for the very first time, and maybe he was. They’d come in quietly, and Johnny hadn’t been focused on anything for the last few hours but Sue and the reappearance of their father. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.”

“Of course,” Franklin said. He covered Johnny’s hand with his own, rubbed his thumb over Johnny’s white knuckles, and then pried his son’s hand from his sleeve. He stepped forward, his palms up and his wrists together, waiting for to be cuffed. “I understand perfectly.”

“Dad?” Johnny repeated, looking at his father, then the detective. His voice sounded dangerously close to breaking again. “I don’t understand. What has he done? Why are you taking my dad?”

“Johnny,” Reed said, placing his hands on Johnny’s shoulders from behind. “We should talk in private.”

“No,” Johnny said, wide-eyed, whirling on him. “Where are they taking my dad, Reed?”

“Johnny,” Reed tried valiantly, only for Johnny to cut him off again, his voice growing more distressed by the minute. Reed’s hands tightened on his shoulders as he closed his eyes. “They’re taking him back to prison.”

“Where I belong. I’m sorry, John,” Franklin Storm said, turning his face away. One of the officers took him by the elbow and, his head hung low, Johnny’s father let himself be quietly led from the room.

Peter had expected Johnny to shout, or try to chase after his father, or burst into flame, or even cry, but instead Johnny just stood there, pale and trembling, his eyes huge as he watched the door shut on the father he’d just a few hours ago thought was dead.

Peter squeezed his hand and made a decision. “I’m getting you out of here.”

* * *

Johnny melted a camera in the stairwell with one spark so Peter could strip out of his street clothes and pull on the mask. Johnny grabbed for his hoodie, pulling it on before slipping Peter’s jeans over his uniform. They slipped a little over his skinnier hips, but they hid that signature Fantastic Four blue well enough. Peter reached out and tangled his fingers with Johnny’s, pulling him up the stairs and towards the roof. At the roof’s edge he tugged the hood of Johnny’s borrowed sweatshirt up over his face, wrapped one arm around his waist and then swung them both out and over.

“Hold on tight for once, please,” he said, and without comment Johnny wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck. “Better. Alright. Next stop?”

“Not the Baxter Building,” Johnny mumbled, face hidden against Peter’s shoulder.

They didn’t do this a lot, swinging around together when Peter was in his work clothes. Partly because Johnny could fly under his own power, true, but also they’d decided they weren’t ready for Peter and Spider-Man to be linked yet. The easiest way was for Johnny to only be seen with one of them; Peter won by default, being the soulmate and all.

He missed it, sometimes, the way you could miss something you’d never really had.

“Okay,” Peter said. “Aunt May’s it is.”

Aunt May had sworn up, down and sideways that she wasn’t going to live in any building that could blast off into space, Reed’s endearingly earnest attempts to explain how unlikely that was aside. Peter hadn’t thought it would come so in handy, but right now he thought Johnny probably needed a place to hide out.

The house in Forest Hills still belonged to them, but it had been too easy a place to mob, with too little security. An apartment had made more sense, though it had taken some very long arguments before May had accepted that.

Peter switched directions and swung towards the Upper West Side.

It took an annoying amount of knocking before Aunt May came into the living room and got the window open for them.

“Oh, sweetheart,” May said, helping Peter manhandle Johnny through the window. Johnny seemed to collapse against her, folding himself until he could rest his forehead at her shoulder. She made clucking noises, combing his hair back. Peter slid the window shut, feeling anxious and itchy all over. He wanted to take Johnny from his aunt.

He wanted to go out and hit something.

“I saw it on the news,” Aunt May said, continuing to pet Johnny’s hair. “Is Susan…?”

“She’ll be okay,” Peter said. “It’s a long story, Aunt May.”

“Well, I didn’t have any other plans for today,” she said, even as she led Johnny to the couch. “Sit down, sweetheart. There you go.”

Johnny curled up against the sofa arm, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to his chest. Peter clambered after him, setting a hand at Johnny’s ankle.

“Aunt May, can you get him some tea or something?” he asked.

“Tea?” Johnny said, once May was in the kitchen. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d gotten home.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, pulling Johnny’s feet into his lap. “I’m on autopilot. How are you doing?”

Johnny only shook his head.

“I know,” Peter said, working his thumb into the arch of Johnny’s foot. “Believe me, I was there, I know.”

Johnny looked at him, his blue eyes damp and betrayal written all over his face, and all Peter wanted to do was take him in his arms and kiss him and keep him safe from the rest of the world. They didn’t deserve him. Peter didn’t deserve him, either, but at least he tried.

Aunt May came back first with tea, and then a little while later with soup, and she even managed to get Johnny to eat some of it. He stayed mostly silent while Peter filled May in on what had happened, trying to keep his descriptions as calm and measured as possible, one hand on Johnny’s back the whole time. Johnny only spoke up when Peter got to his father and faltered, unsure what to say. Unsure what was his place.

“Then my dad showed up,” Johnny said, filling the silence. He sniffed miserably, bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes. Peter wondered if he’d ever run out of tears or if Johnny could just cry forever, an unlimited well in him to rival his flames. “Only he’s supposed to be dead. But he’s not. This whole time he’s just been in prison, and everyone’s been lying to me.”

He said it with none of the fire or desperation from before, only a deep, sorrowful resignation, like he was used to being lied to. Peter didn’t want to think about that too hard, but he was Johnny’s soulmate, and he had to.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but May silenced him with a look, shaking her head behind Johnny’s back. With a very few notable exceptions, Peter had always made it a point to listen to his aunt, so he shut his mouth.

They spent the next few hours on the living room couch together, watching a movie – a romcom, Johnny’s secret favorite genre, about two soulmates who kept narrowly missing each other in the same office building. Peter was bored halfway through it – the plot was contrived, and he’d had enough of his own drama connecting with Johnny to last him a lifetime. But Johnny was leaning heavily on him, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Reed called late that night to update them on Sue’s condition – and on Johnny’s father. May looked reluctant as she passed Johnny the phone, but whatever Reed had to say just made Johnny answer shortly – “okay” and “if you say so” and “tell Sue I love her.”

Then he hung up. He sat there on the couch for a long moment, then turned and wrapped his arms around Peter.

“I want to go to bed,” Johnny said, arms heavy around Peter’s neck. “Can we go to bed?”

“Whatever you want,” Peter promised.

Aunt May had recreated his bedroom in Queens exactly in the new apartment, the same posters, the same bedspread. Johnny ran his fingers lightly over the microscope on the desk and then flopped unceremoniously down on the bed.

Peter sat down next to him, tugging his boots off. He leaned over Johnny to handle the bottom half of his uniform, and Johnny managed to get his shirt off on his own. He curled up on his side, clearly waiting for Peter to take care of the blankets. For once, Peter didn’t call him spoiled.

He shed his costume and then climbed into bed behind Johnny, pulling the covers over them both before hitting the light. He nuzzled at Johnny’s neck. “Better?”

Johnny shrugged wordlessly.

Peter slipped a hand down to his hip, rubbing at the spot where the end of his words lay. “Penny for ‘em, hot stuff. Can’t help if I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“I thought he was dead,” Johnny said, voice thick and wet and awful. Peter could feel him in his own veins, all jumbled up inside. “I – Sue and my aunt Mary, they said he was dead. That he went out that night and he – he was drunk, and that he went off the road… probably never even saw the tree…”

He shifted; Peter expected him to turn around in his arms, to huddle closer and let Peter hold him, but instead Johnny just curled in tighter on himself.

“How could they never tell me?” he asked. “How could – Sue lied to me.”

“Maybe it’s not that simple,” Peter said, though he’d been turning it over in his head, too, and he couldn’t come up with an alternative. “Maybe she – maybe she wanted to, but she couldn’t.”

Johnny snorted, disbelieving. Peter didn’t believe it either, so he couldn’t blame him. He was so tense, and Peter knew, in the same way he knew when a mugger was about to pull a gun or if a fist was about to fly at his face, that he had curled his hands so tightly on themselves that it hurt. Peter slid his own hand down Johnny’s arm until he could take his hand, gently uncurling it. He kept his thumb there, pressed to the center of Johnny’s palm.

“Don’t,” he said, kissing his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

Johnny didn’t say anything else. He just pulled the covers up and stayed like that, his back to Peter.

He waited until Johnny’s breathing even out and the soft kiss he pressed to his temple drew no reaction, and then he slipped out of bed. The costume was still lying on the floor where he’d left it. Silently, he put it back on.

Aunt May’s bedroom door was closed. Peter waited silently in the hall for a moment, and then he opened the window and slipped silently through it.

* * *

A few hours and twice as many muggers and wannabe costumed crooks later, Peter slipped back in through that same window. He thought he was home free.

Then the hallway light clicked on.

May was standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a steaming mug of tea. She was wearing a bathrobe and that face that said he was in big trouble. Peter cringed. He pulled off the mask; arguments with Aunt May tended to go better when they were face-to-unmasked face.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

“That’s supposed to be my question for you,” Aunt May said, her tone clipped. “Young man, do you know what time it is?”

Peter hedged his bets. “Late?”

Aunt May didn’t smile. He hadn’t really expected her to. She’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t approve of his costumed career, and especially about him going out late at night, alone.

A horrible thought occurred to him: Johnny, waking up alone in bed, wondering where Peter was.

“Is he…?” he asked, a panicked note in his voice.

“Johnny,” Aunt May cut him off, “is asleep, like you’re supposed to be.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. May did not.

“I’ve been watching the news, Peter,” May said, a hard edge in her voice. “Spider-Man’s been busy tonight.”

The Spider-Man conversation hadn’t gone as badly as he’d always thought it would – it was softened, he thought, by the dual reveal that he’d found his soulmate, the joyous news overshadowing the rest. It probably didn’t hurt that his soulmate could light himself on fire and belonged to one of the most powerful groups of superheroes in the world. Still, she wasn’t exactly happy about things, and especially not about him going out on his own in the middle of the night.

It didn’t stop him. He just tried not to get caught, to save them both the weight of the guilt.

“Guess you won’t buy it’s my evil clone, huh?” Peter asked, giving up the ghost as he tossed his mask on the couch.

“One of you is enough,” May said, rubbing at her forehead. “Peter – I know Johnny’s hurt, and that means you’re hurting, too. But that doesn’t mean you can sneak out in the middle of the night to – to –"

She took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, May,” Peter said, sincerely. And he was sorry – sorry for worrying her. “But he was just so – and I feel it, I feel it all the time, and I – I…”

He clenched his hands uselessly into fists, hanging his head low.

“I do remember what it feels like,” May said softly. “Those early days – you feel everything they feel. Every sting and every joy. And you think it can’t get bigger than this, these feelings. But they do. They get deeper with time. And this…” She gestured to the costume. “This isn’t the way to handle it.”

 _Maybe it’s my way_ , Peter wanted to say, but he was tired, and the weight of her disappointment in him was almost as heavy as the itch that had sent him creeping out the window in the first place.

May’s gaze softened. She hesitated as she neared – he knew she still wasn’t used to looking at the costume, not in the gloom of the night – but then she wrapped her arms around him. He returned the hug, pressing his nose against her hair.

“Alright,” she said when she pulled back, putting a hand on his chest, right over the spider. “There’s a young man in there who needs you.”

“Good night, Aunt May,” Peter said.

“Go get some sleep,” May said, heading to her own bedroom door. Peter thought he was off the hook, and then she added, “And leave the bedroom door open, young man, thank you very much.”

Johnny was where he left him, curled on his side under the covers. Peter crawled back into bed behind him, breathing in the scent of his hair. Gingerly, he fit a hand to Johnny’s waist. When he spread his fingers they covered the end Johnny’s words.

“Love you,” he mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” Johnny said. “Sure you do, masked man.”

Peter, startled, leaned up on one elbow. Johnny’s eyes were still closed, but his mouth was curved in a faint smirk. “You were awake?”

“Your aunt’s been pacing the floor for hours,” Johnny complained, rolling over onto his back. “She is not a quiet pacer.” He reached up, arms around Peter’s neck, chin tipped up for a kiss. Peter obliged. “Have a productive night?”

“A couple of muggers,” Peter said, slipping one hand up Johnny’s ribs, just to feel. “You’re not mad at me?”

It was a redundant question. He could feel that Johnny wasn’t mad. All he got off him was that deep sadness and confusion, tinged now with affection – affection for him.

Peter loved feeling that.

“No,” said Johnny, toying with the hair at the back of Peter’s neck. His gaze was fixed on Peter’s chin instead of his eyes. “I – you were angry. Because of me.”

“Because of what happened to you,” Peter said. Johnny nodded slowly, like he couldn’t quite process that. “Not because of you.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, voice small. Peter pulled him closer.

“Miss me?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Johnny said, nodding. Peter smiled, his forehead pressed to Johnny’s.

“Me, too,” he confessed. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” Johnny said, finally smiling.

“Don’t promise me that,” Peter said, kissing his cheek first, then, because he knew it made Johnny screw up his face in a way Peter thought was cute, the tip of his nose. “I’ll take advantage. Just kiss you all the time.”

“Yeah?” Johnny said, tilting his chin up. “Do you promise?”

Peter kissed him, soft and sweet, the way Johnny deserved to be kissed. He cradled his face gently, thinking, _I love him, I love him_ , and then he let his lips drift to Johnny’s cheeks and his forehead, the space just beside his ear. He was in the process of kissing the tip of Johnny’s nose as obnoxiously as possible when Johnny finally started to snicker, shoving at his chest.

“Quit it,” he said, smiling like he’d just remembered how. “You’re such a dork.”

“I’m not the one who freaked out when he found out I had a whole run of old monster comics,” Peter said, tweaking Johnny on the forehead. “Bagged _and_ boarded.”

“Are you helping your case right now?” Johnny asked him. He cupped a hand to his mouth, attempting to hide a yawn.

“You’re tired,” Peter stated, raising careful fingers to brush Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You can go to sleep. Spider-Man’s not going anywhere else tonight.”

Johnny pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, looking at Peter’s face like he was searching for something. New feelings swirled just under the surface, but they were murky, and Peter couldn’t pick them apart from each other. They weren’t nice feelings, though, and not nice feelings were the last thing he wanted Johnny to feel when they were lying in bed together.

“Promise?” Johnny asked, holding out his little finger.

“Are you serious?” Peter said, raising his eyebrows.

Johnny insistently stuck his little finger in Peter’s face, so Peter rolled his eyes, kissed it, and then linked his own through Johnny’s.

“Promise,” he said, pitching his voice low and serious.

The swirl of feelings that wasn’t his own ebbed a bit, but only a bit. Johnny sighed and rolled over, and Peter slung an arm over his waist and buried his nose in Johnny’s hair, spooning him from behind the way he knew Johnny liked. He closed his own eyes and breathed in the scent of Johnny’s hair, letting his hand naturally drift towards the edge of Johnny’s words.

The first thing he’d ever said to him. Sometimes he’d thought it should have been something better, something more romantic, but in that moment he’d opened his mouth and what came out had been _I want to thank you for that speech. I’ll never forget what you said today. It really meant a lot to me_.

Could have been worse, he thought to himself wryly. Could’ve been something about animated insects.

“Peter?” Johnny asked, his voice small and quiet. He moved his hand so it lay on top of Peter’s. “What do you think I should do?”

 _Forget about all of them,_ a little angry voice in Peter said. _Forget about them and just let me take care of you from now._

But that wasn’t right and that wasn’t fair. Not to Johnny, and not to Sue.

He kissed the back of Johnny’s neck very gently.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said.

* * *

Reed came to get them in the morning.

“Susan’s awake,” he said to Johnny, looking haggard at May’s kitchen table. Peter doubted he’d slept. “She wants to see you.”

May poured Reed a cup of coffee; Reed looked longingly at the whole pot.

“And my dad?” Johnny asked stiffly.

“In police custody,” Reed said, rubbing at his forehead. “I have our lawyers looking into our options.”

“Did you,” Johnny broke off to swallow hard. “Did you know? About my dad?”

Reed shook his head. “No. No. She – Susan never said.”

“Can I…?” Johnny trailed off without finishing. It didn’t matter; both Peter and Reed knew what he’d been about to ask.

“Not at the moment, no. I’m sorry,” Reed said, covering Johnny’s hand with his own. He squeezed Johnny’s fingers. “Johnny. Do you... _want_ to see him?”

Johnny swallowed hard, glancing at Peter as if he had any answers. Peter could only shrug, helpless, his hands held out. He couldn’t decide this for Johnny, as much as part of him wanted to. It was the same part that wanted to lock Johnny up in a tower, to never let anyone else touch him ever again.

“I don’t know,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Reed said, raising his hand to Johnny’s face. He cupped his cheek briefly, then pulled his hand away. “That can wait. Let’s go see Susan.”

Johnny held Peter’s hand throughout the entire car ride, grip almost tight enough to hurt. Peter curved an arm around his shoulders protectively, ready as always to put himself between Johnny and the world.

“The soulmate’s an attack dog,” someone had said once on the set of a photoshoot, and it was true that Peter was protective. He didn’t like the way people acted around Johnny, like being famous and beautiful meant they were entitled to him. Like they were allowed to touch him whenever they wanted, however they wanted.

Johnny had no natural defenses. He took everything to heart, every comment, every critique. He craved approval from everyone.

Peter had to protect him. That was his job.

Sue was awake and sitting up in bed when they entered her private and heavily guarded room. She looked pale and tired, the dark circles under her eyes highlighted by the white bandages wrapped around her head, but otherwise in good cheer. Ben was sitting next to her, balanced precariously on a chair that had not been built with his massive frame in mind, and she was smiling softly at something he said.

That smiled widened when Reed knocked on the door and Sue looked up and saw Johnny.  
“Hey, Reed, baby brother,” she said, holding out one hand.

“Shift change,” Ben grumbled, chair creaking as he got out of it. He hooked a huge thumb over his shoulder as he lumbered out. “Gonna go see if I can get me one of those things reinforced with concrete.”

“Hi, Sue,” Johnny said in a small voice.

“Come here,” Sue said, beckoning Johnny closer. She cupped a hand to his cheek. “You’re pale. Have you been eating?”

“May’s been taking care of me,” Johnny said. Peter didn’t know if anyone else heard the hint of reproach in his voice.

“That’s good,” Sue said, gently brushing a tear away from Johnny’s cheek. “You need to eat, honey.”

“I have been,” Johnny said sullenly, although in truth he’d barely picked at his breakfast before they’d left. He took her hand in his own. “How’re you feeling?”

“Oh, you know,” Sue said, gesturing at herself with a wry smile. “I’ve been better.”

Johnny nodding, another few tears slipping down his cheeks. Sue wiped them away, clicking her tongue.

“Don’t cry,” she chided gently. “I’m alright. The doctors even say I’ll be able to go home soon, right, Reed?”

Reed nodded tightly, his hands braced on his hips. His arms looked too long, his elbows a little like they were drooping, and every line of him looked deeply tired. Peter tried to put himself in his shoes for a minute, wondering how exactly he’d feel if it was Johnny in Sue’s place.

“See?” Sue told Johnny, thumbing another tear away. “Everything’s just fine.”

Johnny took a deep breath and pulled away. In a very small voice, he asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Sue asked.

“About Dad,” Johnny said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Sue’s smile faded.

“Oh,” she said quietly, her gaze falling to her own lap. “Johnny…”

“Well, were you?” Johnny demanded, his voice rising dangerously. “Were you ever just going to say, hey Johnny, Dad’s not dead, he’s just been in prison the past couple of years?”

“Johnny,” Reed cut in. “Maybe right now isn’t the best time for this conversation.”

“You said I could talk to her!” Johnny said, right at the same as Sue put in, “Reed, please, he has every right to be upset with me.”

Silence fell over the room. Johnny opened his mouth and then closed it, shook his head, took a step back and a step forward.

“How could you do it?” he finally asked. His voice broke a little. “How could you lie to me for almost ten years?”

“It’s not that simple,” Sue said, still looking down.

“Peter, maybe you should step outside for a moment,” Reed said, gesturing towards the door.

“No!” Johnny said, whirling on them. “No, I want Peter to stay!” His voice was wobbling, betraying the hint of the stutter that crept up when Johnny was overwhelmed with emotion, or when he and Peter’s makeout sessions had been getting especially heavy. Peter had never heard it like this, so heartbroken. “I don’t – I don’t want anymore secrets, no more lies --!”

“Johnny!” Reed said, hands shooting out to take Johnny by the shoulders. “You need to calm down. It’s important not to upset Sue.”

“No, Reed,” Sue said, but she’d gone paler, and her fingers were twisted in the blanket in her lap. “I kept this secret from him for a very long time. I understand if Johnny’s angry with me. It’s – this isn’t how I wanted to do this.” She took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. “It’s not that I meant to lie to you, Johnny.”

“Then why did you do it?” Johnny said, reaching to take her hand. She squeezed his fingers, shaking his head.

“You were nine years old,” Sue said. “The night Dad didn’t come home, well – it wasn’t the first night he’d gone out and not come back. He gambled. He gambled a lot and sometimes he just didn’t come home. Honestly, I remember I wasn’t worried about it until the police knocked on the door.”

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“What did he do?” Johnny asked in a small voice.

“He owed a lot of people a lot of money. People it’s bad to owe money to. There was a fight and the way he’s always told me, the gun just – went off.” She shook her head. “What was I supposed to, tell you Dad had been arrested for manslaughter? I didn’t know how to explain it to you. You wouldn’t have understood.”

“That didn’t mean you had to tell me he was dead,” Johnny said, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You were so young…” Sue said. “When Dad said that it would be better if you thought he was dead, I just…” She shut her eyes. “I told him that was the first smart thing he’d said in years. I’m not proud of that. I’m not proud of any of it.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Johnny asked.

Sue opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. After a minute she simply looked away.

Everyone in the room knew it was answer enough.

“Okay,” Johnny said, swallowing hard. “I’m – I’m gonna go now. I’m really glad you’re better, Sue, I – I really am, but…”

He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. He turned and ran from the room, roughly pushing past Reed as he did so. Peter knew he should go after him, but he hesitated a moment, looking at Sue’s face. She wasn’t crying, but it seemed to Peter that it was only through her own strength of will.

Peter knew what it was like to lie to try and protect someone.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“Just take care of him, please,” she said, bringing a hand up to wipe at her shiny eyes.

Peter found Johnny up on the hospital roof. It was the first place he looked – when Johnny was upset, he tended to head up as high as he could. Peter understood that because he was the same way. Everything just seemed different up high, like even the problems got smaller.

They didn’t, not really. But it was easier to pretend.

Johnny had his back to him. He didn’t turn around even though Peter knew that Johnny knew he was there; he wasn’t taking any measures to be quiet, and he’d let the rooftop door slam behind him. Johnny didn’t say anything even as Peter sat down next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“What do you want to do?” Peter asked.

Johnny tipped his head back to gaze at the sky, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks pink.

“I want to race,” he said.

* * *

Peter had never taken it for granted before how much Johnny held back on speed when they raced. Peter was no slowpoke himself, his powers rendering him far faster than the average man, but this time he had to push himself to his limits just to keep Johnny within his line of sight. Johnny zipped between buildings like a bolt of fire, making sharp turns and the occasional breakneck dive that made Peter want to fling himself at him and catch him – if he wasn’t still on fire.

His flames cast dazzling reflections on every nearby window. He was a brilliant firecracker, lighting up the midday sky.

Meanwhile, Peter was going to tear his arm out of his socket if he kept up this pace. As much as Johnny obviously needed to burn off some steam, it was time for a change in tactics.

Johnny had been flying in the same general pattern. Instead of trying to catch up to him, Peter switched directions, cutting across and laying his trap. Then all he had to do was wait for Johnny to fly into it.

He hoped the electronics store down below wasn’t too attached to its standee.

His trap set, he hung back in the shadows, and sure enough within a minute there was Johnny coming around the corner again, apparently ignorant to the fact that Peter had stopped attempting to catch up with him.

Peter watched, waited, and dropped the standee – which was in the shape of a smiling young man in a short-sleeved button up shirt and tie, brandishing a smart phone – a foot or so in front of Johnny’s face.

Johnny squawked, pulling up short to avoid running into what very much looked, at first glance, like a magically dangling cell phone salesman, and, flames extinguished, he fell right into the web Peter had spun down below.

“What,” Johnny said, breathing hard and spread out in an ungainly sprawl an even thirty stories above street level, “the hell?”

Peter moved from his hiding place, dangling upside on the end of a webline just over Johnny.

“You ready to stop scaring the pigeons?” he asked.

“That wasn’t funny. You made me think I was going to run into some guy,” Johnny told him, pulling indignantly at the webbing. He made a face. “Ugh, this stuff is so sticky.”

“That’s what she said,” Peter said indulgently, tossing him a vial of solvent from his belt. “Come on. Meet me up on top of that building over there.”

Johnny looked sullen more than anything by the time he joined him. They were on top of the highest building on the block, and the view was incredible, but all Peter could look at were Johnny’s hunched shoulders and shadowed eyes, the restless way he picked at his fingernails.

Peter patted the spot next to him. With a loud sigh, Johnny threw himself down next to him.

“You blown off enough steam to talk about it?” Peter asked.

Johnny shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? You were there. You’re my soulmate. You can feel how I feel.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s actually going to cut it this time,” Peter said, moving his hand just close enough that he could link his little finger through Johnny’s. “You blew up at your sister. Who is in the hospital. Over your dead dad who is not, in fact, dead. I kind of think you need to talk about it.”

Johnny ducked his head, so Peter lowered his own, trying to catch Johnny’s eye.

“Look,” he continued. “I know I’m not the best listener, but – I’m trying here.”

“You don’t understand,” Johnny said, his head ducked and his feet swinging, his hands wrapped whiteknuckled around the ledge. “Nobody understands.”

For one terrifying moment, Peter thought he might push himself off – but Johnny could fly.

Even if Johnny couldn’t, Peter could catch him.

Peter had to catch him now. He took a deep breath.

“Do you even know what my parents’ names are?” he asked.

Johnny glanced up at him, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth to answer, and then left it hanging open as Peter watched the realization that he didn’t creep over his face. His cheeks went red in embarrassment and Peter grabbed his hand before he could do something stupid, like apologize.

“That’s not – that wasn’t a condemnation, okay?” Peter said, squeezing his hand. “ _I_ barely know my parents’ names. I barely remember them, I was so young. I mean, I had Uncle Ben and Aunt May and I never really thought about it as being any different until I got to school and the bigger kids started bullying me because I didn’t have parents.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said softly, turning his hand over in Peter’s.

“That’s not my point,” Peter said, leaning in to knock their foreheads lightly together. “I’m saying I know how it feels. I do. I had to go home and ask, hey Aunt May, what happened to my parents?” He swallowed, leaning back. “And she – she doesn’t like to talk about it and I hate to see her cry, so. There’s no pictures of them anywhere in the house. Even Ben, he never talked about them.”

“Peter,” Johnny said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek.

“And I don’t know,” Peter said, wrapping his free hand into a fist and tapping it against the ledge. “I don’t know why they left – me. And I know that’s not the same. I mean, I don’t think my parents are alive somewhere in a Russian gulag or anything, but I just – I want you to know that I do get it. I get it as much as anyone.”

Their lips met softly, no more than a gentle brush.

“And I feel you,” Peter said, skimming his fingertips down Johnny’s jaw. “I feel every part of you. I know that you’re angry and you’re sad and I know that you’re scared. But I’m not leaving you, okay?”

Johnny looked at him, blue eyes wide, and Peter tried to smile for him.

“I am not leaving you,” he repeated. “If I go to jail, you’ll know about it.”

Johnny socked him on the shoulder, not very hard, and then leaned against him, his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he said.

“That’s lucky, considering you’re stuck with me,” Peter said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. But they really were lucky, he knew – there were always stories, although Peter had never met anyone who had ever admitted it, of people who met their soulmates only to end up hating them instead of loving them.

Looking at Johnny, he couldn’t imagine it.

Peter let them have a moment, sitting there on top of the world and all alone together, but he knew sooner or later they had to go face the music. He turned his face into Johnny’s hair first, breathing in the faded matchstick scent of him, and kissed the top of his head.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

Johnny took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling away from Peter. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, and the sadness and confusion hit Peter like a wave all over again. They hadn’t been together very long at all, not in the grand scheme of things, and he knew he was only feeling a fraction of what Johnny was, but the sheer strength of Johnny’s emotions still threatened to bowl him over.

“I think I want to go see my dad,” Johnny said.

* * *

It didn’t happen overnight.

First Sue came home to the Baxter Building, and after a day so did Johnny. Part of Peter wanted to dissuade him, because he liked having both May and Johnny – the two people he loved most in the world – under the same roof, safe and sound and where Peter could look after them. But he knew Johnny needed to make up with his sister, and for that he had to go home.

He swung Johnny over. It was the least he could do, and they both needed the moment of closeness, Johnny’s body pressed tightly against his, the two of them alone at the top of the world and the end of the web.

It was a toss up whether to swing fast or go slow. Fast was the way they both liked it, but slow gave him more time to hold Johnny.

The photo albums were already out on the coffee table when they slipped in through the window. Sue was waiting, too. Her eyes met Johnny’s and he practically leapt out of Peter’s arms and into his sister’s, burying his nose in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sue said, holding him close. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny said, squeezing her tightly back. “I’m sorry, too.”

Peter watched them embrace for a moment, braced against the windowsill. Johnny looked up briefly and smiled at him, thin and watery, but real. Peter rolled the mask up just enough that he could smile back, and then he swung out the window.

He gave Johnny a little bit of space for the next few days to get used to the new normal and to work things out with Sue. They still talked all the time, but it wasn’t the same as having Johnny around day in and day out the way Peter had so easily gotten used to. He missed him, all the time, and none too subtly, if the way Aunt May pointedly ignored the extra time he was putting into Spider-Man had anything to say about it.

But it was fine, he told himself as his fist connected with a mugger’s jaw. Some time apart was normal, even for soulmates, and Johnny’s entire world had been shaken. He needed some extra time with his sister to work out what was up from what was down again. Until then, Peter had the city streets to keep him company, and all the tall buildings New York had to offer to hang sobbing small time crooks from.

Peter just had to give it time. Sooner or later, things would go back to his admittedly skewed form of normal.

Then Franklin Storm broke out of jail for the second time that month.

* * *

It happened on the day Johnny and Sue finally went to see their father in prison. Peter had wanted to go with them, but Johnny had told him he needed to do this on his own and so, with only a little more arguing, Peter let him.

He ended up regretting that.

When Peter first saw the headlines, he didn’t believe them. Franklin Storm had broken – quite literally – out of prison wielding fantastic powers, calling himself the Invincible Man. Peter continued not to believe it until Johnny called him, frantic and rambling.

He relayed the whole story to Peter, how they’d gone to the prison to meet with their father only to find him cold and distant, and then how he’d erupted in a rage, displaying powers – very familiar powers. Invisibility and super-strength, like Sue’s and Ben’s.

“I don’t understand,” Johnny said. “How my dad have powers like ours?”

And he did have powers just like theirs. As the Invincible Man’s rampage through New York continued, he demonstrated both elasticity like Reed’s and flames that rivaled Johnny’s.

The costume should have looked hokey – a baggy green bodysuit and purple hood, with metallic gold boots, belt, and gloves. Peter couldn’t exactly talk, but somehow he didn’t think it was going to make People’s best dressed list any time soon.

There was something about the way the man inside carried himself, though, that made the hair of the back of his neck prickle. The Invincible Man’s face was covered, but every article said the same thing: it was Franklin Storm in the costume. But Franklin Storm hadn’t carried himself like that when Peter had seen him in the hospital. He’d been tired and weary, a broken man. He didn’t look like the type to walk the streets of New York like he owned them.

The Fantastic Four had cornered him after his breakout but failed to bring him in. Sue and Johnny had both faltered, afraid to unleash their powers and hurt him – and who could blame them? He was their father. Peter couldn’t imagine what it must be like to get your dad back only to have him turn against you.

The news was less kind. Their hesitation had been caught on camera and, as further attempts to bring the Invincible Man in all failed, people started turning against the both of them, accusing them of purposefully failing to stop him. A few even went to far as to say they were in league with their father.

Johnny and Sue had been media darlings since day one. Now it felt like all the adoration had all just been false shine; every headline now wanted to rip them apart. Soulmates were not exempt. Reed came under fire for a myriad of things, including questions about his professional conduct, his ethics. Old classmates of his lined up to get on the news. It got worse and worse the longer it went on, and the vitriol wasn’t just reserved for the Fantastic Four themselves. Alicia Masters had a rock hurled through the window of a gallery show, and a group of college students tried to follow Peter down a dark alley – not that they received anything more than black eyes for their trouble.

Suddenly Peter was less reviled as Spider-Man than he was as Peter Parker. It was like freshman year of high school all over again, and he was number one on everyone’s hate parade.

Almost everyone’s, anyway.

“Don’t you have your book club?” Peter asked when he came home on a Tuesday evening only to find May sat with her knitting on the couch. She never missed book club night.

“Mm, well,” May said, gaze hardening behind her glasses. “I didn’t want to bother you with the details, but last week there was a little – kerfuffle with Mrs. Wilkinson.”

“The old batty one who smells like cabbage rolls?” Peter asked, stretching out next to her on the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table. May gave him a sidelong look until he moved them right back off.

“That’s a very rude thing to say,” May said. She hesitated. “But yes, the batty old one who smells like cabbage rolls. And her coffee cake is always dry.”

“What kind of kerfuffle?” Peter asked.

“She made a few certain comments about certain news headlines that were none of her business,” May said, keeping her eyes firmly on her knitting, “and in return I upended a Jell-O mold over her head.”

“Aunt May,” Peter said, equal parts scandalized and delighted. “You didn’t. You did. Tell me someone got it on video.”

“I’m not proud of myself, Peter,” she said, although the look on her face didn’t quite match the statement. “But Johnny is your family and that makes him mine, too. I don’t care what his father does – nobody is going to spread malicious gossip about that boy while I’m in the room.”

Warmth flooded Peter’s chest as he wrapped an arm around May’s thin shoulders and leaned into her, his cheek resting against her grey hair.

“I love you, May,” he said.

“I love you, too, dear,” she said, reaching up to palm his cheek. “You and Johnny both. Very, very much.”

“Mm,” Peter hummed, buoyed by his aunt. Suddenly the world didn’t seem quite as terrible as it had five minutes before. He closed his eyes for a second before he leaned away. He steepled his fingers together variously and said, “Now, young lady, tell me more about this Jell-O mold and don’t skip the details. You can start with what flavor it was and then work your way down to the look on her face when it ended up all over her ugly armchair.”

* * *

The message in the sky was brief; just a fiery spider, glowing against the early evening gloom. Peter had just been finishing up teaching a man why grabbing an old woman’s purse and racing through Times Square was the kind of life choice that could rile a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man when he saw it.

“Hey, man,” the purse snatcher said, his voice wobbling as he extended a trembling finger. “I think that’s for you.”

“Consider this your lucky break,” Peter told him, securing him to the nearest window with a quick shot of webbing.

Johnny was waiting on the roof of Peter’s building, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around him. His hair was unstyled, hanging over his forehead in loose curls. He looked tired. He’d been quiet the last few days, quieter than Peter had ever seen him. Quiet enough that even when they had been together, it felt like they’d been miles apart.

“Hey,” Peter said. He webbed the rooftop door shut to make sure it was safe, and then he took off the mask. “How are you?”

Johnny shrugged, glancing up at Peter with a _how do you think, stupid?_ look on his face. Peter guessed he deserved that.

“Sorry,” Peter said, sitting down next to him.

“It’s okay,” Johnny said. He chewed on his lower lip, already red and raw like he’d been doing that a lot. “Reed found where my dad’s been hiding out.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“We’re going to go take him in tomorrow,” Johnny said, glancing away again. “Come hell or high water. Or that’s what Ben says, anyway.”

“How are you, you know,” Peter said, inching closer to him. “Feeling?”

Johnny was quiet for a long moment.

“It’s not that I ever thought my dad was a – a good person or anything,” he finally said. “Even before my mom – before the accident, he was cold and he yelled… Sis used to try and keep me away from their arguments, but I could hear them. She thinks I don’t remember, but I do. And he – he could be really mean, sometimes. But I didn’t think…”

He drew in a shaky breath. Peter desperately wanted to hold him, but Johnny felt closed off and raw, and he looked like if he stopped talking now he might never be able to say what he had to say.

“I never thought he was evil,” Johnny said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“He didn’t seem evil,” Peter said. “At the hospital, I mean. I only met him for a minute, but he didn’t seem evil to me at all.” He paused, and then added, “I don’t know how anyone who helped make you could be evil.”

“You’re so corny,” Johnny accused, laughing a little bit, but not like anything was funny. He smiled at Peter for a second, a sad little thing, and then he reached behind him, placing his hand on his own lower back, right where his words were. He swallowed thickly and said, “He made me think you were going to hate me.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How?”

“The night he – the night I thought he died, anyway,” Johnny said, glancing away. “I – it doesn’t matter. It was stupid. I broke a vase and it had been my mom’s favorite and he just. He said that my words were a joke. And I just – I thought he was right. How could anybody love me like that? I was stupid and clumsy and I used to have this stutter, you know? And I – I wasn’t ever gonna inspire anybody. It had to be a joke. Some mean prank.” He laughed softly. “Stupid Johnny Storm, right?”

“Hey,” Peter said, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. “Stop it. Stop it for a second. Just…”

Words failed him. Instead he hauled them both to their feet and spun Johnny around.

“Peter?” Johnny said, trying to twist back around and look at him.

“No,” Peter said. “I want you to stay right there. Trust me, okay?”

He found the hidden seem in the Fantastic Four uniform and pushed the top half up, until he could see his words written on Johnny’s skin. The first thing Peter had ever said to him.

“You,” he said, placing his index on the _I_ at the small of Johnny’s back. He traced it with his finger, following the nervous, spidery curve of it down and then starting on _want_ , “have no idea what everything you say means to me, but that day – that day I’d given up. Doc Ock had beaten me, humiliated me…”

“Peter,” Johnny said quietly, shivering as Peter’s finger started to trace _thank you_.

“And then there you were,” Peter said. “And you said exactly what I needed to hear. So I’m gonna say it again… Thank you for that speech, Johnny Storm. I’m never going to forget it.”

Johnny turned around. His eyes were brimming. Peter tried to smile for him.

Next thing he knew they were kissing, fierce and desperate, his hands at Johnny’s waist and Johnny’s buried in his hair. He could feel Johnny’s tears on his own face, so he only kissed him deeper, his hands slipping to squeeze Johnny’s sharp hips. He tried to pour everything he felt for Johnny into the kiss: _I love you_ and _I’m here_ and _nobody gets to make you feel like you’re not good enough for me anymore_.

Johnny was gasping when he broke away, his cheeks wet and his lips red. Peter didn’t let go of him.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to fight my dad,” Johnny said.

“I don’t know either,” Peter said, holding him closer.

They stood there like that for a very long time, just the two of them, until the evening faded fully into the night. Finally, Johnny drew back with a shuddering breath.

“I want you to come with us,” he said.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Peter said, tilting his head to press a kiss to Johnny’s cheek. “Even to New Jersey. Of course I'll come with you.”

* * *

It was like something out of a bad science fiction film, one of the old black and white ones with the hokey special effects that Uncle Ben used to let him stay up wait to watch on the weekends. As a kid they’d given him nightmares, but he’d never told Aunt May because he liked the secret ritual of it, sneaking out of bed to join his uncle in the living room for popcorn and bad monster movies.

The way Reed explained it didn’t make it any less bizarre. He’d said he’d suspected it since the Invincible Man had displayed his particular set of powers, but hadn’t wanted to give Sue and Johnny false hope. The real Franklin Storm, he explained, had been transported to a another planet and replaced by an impostor, an alien shapeshifter known colloquially as the Super Skrull.

Peter knew about Skrulls, of course – Johnny had told him about the first time they’d faced him, and Peter remembered the Super Skrull’s first attempt to invade New York a little over a year ago. And Peter might have faced a lot of weirdness since he’d first put on the mask, but the majority of what he tackled was just regular people with bad intentions, waiting in the dark.

This – alien invaders from outerspace who could wear anyone’s face – wasn’t what Spider-Man _did_.

The fight was brief. Once Reed revealed the Skrulls’ attempt to discredit the Fantastic Four using Sue and Johnny’s father, the Skrull leaders apparently deemed the jig up. The Super Skrull was whisked away in front of Peter’s very eyes. An excruciating few minutes later, the real Franklin Storm, battered and haggard-looking, was beamed down in his place. He looked confused and a little dazed, but he didn’t appear to be hurt. Even Reed, who had remained stonily cool throughout the entire ordeal, breathed a sigh of relief.

For a moment, it seemed like they were getting a happy ending.

Then Peter’s spider-sense went off in surround sound. Johnny moved to go to his father, and every instinct Peter possessed told him that couldn’t happen.

Franklin Storm seemed to agree.

“No!” he shouted, holding up a warding hand. His face contorted in pain as he rolled over, his chest to the floor. “Go back! Stay away from me!”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Peter had thrown himself at Johnny, knocking him to the ground. Johnny shouted, struggling wildly underneath Peter’s weight, but Peter’s spider-sense was still screaming. He caught Johnny’s flailing hands, pinning him underneath him, and that was when the small explosion ripped, deafening, through the room.

It took a second for the ringing in Peter’s ears to stop. Johnny, trapped under him, was breathing very hard, his gaze fixed on something just over Peter’s shoulder.

“Dad,” he said, his voice small and helpless.

Peter didn't have to look. He already knew.

* * *

Reed explained it to Peter in the hospital, both of them standing outside the room, holding cups of lukewarm coffee and waiting. The doctor had told them that was all they could do – wait – but it had been obvious before they’d even reached the hospital that Franklin Storm wasn’t going to survive his injuries very long.

“They made a human booby trap out of him,” Reed said. There was more grey, Peter thought, than there had been a month before. “Strapped some sort of high impact explosive beam to his chest… If Johnny had reached him…”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head, and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It wasn’t just me,” Peter said. He’d replayed the moment over and over again in his head, free from the immediacy and the buzz of his spider-sense. Johnny’s father had rolled over in an attempt to take the full force of the Skrull’s device. He’d saved Johnny’s life just as much as Peter.

He watched through the window as Sue and Johnny leaned over the sides of their father’s bed, each of them holding one of his hands. Franklin Storm’s lips were slowly moving, but his eyes were shut.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” he asked Reed.

“I don’t know,” Reed said quietly. “Something nice, I hope. They deserve one last nice moment with him.”

Later, when it was over, Peter found Johnny on the rooftop, sitting alone on the hood of the Fantasticar. He wasn’t crying, just sitting there quietly, staring up at the sky. He gave no indication that he knew Peter was there, but Peter knew that he did.

He hesitated a moment, and then climbed on top of the hood to join him.

“The stars are pretty up here,” he said.

“You can’t really see them,” Johnny said. “There’s this island Reed took us to once, right before the accident. I’d never even been out of the country before, so I was excited anyway, but at night he took me and Sue out to the beach and it was like you could see every star in the whole universe in the sky. We lit a campfire and he pointed out the constellations. It was really nice.”

“It sounds like it,” Peter said. “You’ll have to take me someday.”

Johnny didn’t look at him, but he did lean a little into Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“You saved my life,” Johnny said dully.

“Not for that part,” Peter said, reaching out to take Johnny’s hand. “I’m never going to be sorry about that. I’m just… I’m sorry it had to go this way.”

Johnny nodded. A tear slipped silently down his face.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I didn’t even know him, not really.”

Peter hesitated, then placed his hand over Johnny’s. “I think if I got my dad back, even if it was just for a day – I’d feel the same. And I knew mine even less than you knew yours.”

“If you ever get your dad back after this, you’re probably gonna think he’s like, a shapeshifting robot or something,” Johnny said, snorting. He looked over at Peter. “Do you want to know what he said to me?”

“If you want to tell me,” Peter said, even though he very much did want to know.

“He told me that he only ever kept two pictures when he was in jail,” Johnny said. “An old family photo of all four of us from when I was just a baby, and a picture of Sue and Reed he found in a newspaper. Until a couple of months ago.”

“What happened a couple of months ago?” Peter said when Johnny faltered.

Johnny looked over at him, his eyes shining. “I met you.”

“Oh,” Peter said softly. He shifted a little closer.

“He said that he read all about it,” Johnny said. “And he saved that magazine cover we did, you remember, the photo where you’re standing behind me and you have your arms around me? You’re wearing that polo shirt?”

“How could I forget?” Peter said. “I hated that shirt.”

Johnny laughed a little bit, softly, and then he grew quiet. He looked back up at the sky.

“He said he was happy I found you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He said he hoped you were good enough for me and that you were everything I wanted.”

“Johnny,” Peter said softly.

“I got to tell him yes,” Johnny said, looking over at him and smiling even with tears in his eyes.

Peter leaned forward and kissed him, his hand cupped to Johnny’s cheek. It was soft and unhurried. Johnny’s lips were chapped and he tasted faintly like ash and tears, but Peter didn’t mind.

“Reed’s going to take Sue back to the Baxter Building, once they get everything sorted out,” Johnny said softly when they broke apart.

“You should go be with them,” Peter said. Johnny shook his head. He reached up to palm Peter’s shoulder, right over the place where his own words lay, and the spot felt warm just from his touch.

“Peter,” he said, thumb rubbing just under Peter’s collarbone where the end of his words lay. “Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://traincat.tumblr.com) and so is [Spideytorch week](http://spideytorchweek.tumblr.com)!


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